Blood is Thicker
by snarkvenger
Summary: "Hey, brother [...] know the water's sweet but blood is thicker." Dixon brothers drabble collection.
1. The Cave

_******Disclaimer: **I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters or story lines.  
_

A new, Dixon-centric drabble series! Mostly based on requests received on my Merle Dixon ask blog. Hope you all enjoy it!

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**I. The Cave**  
requested by: anonymous  
Merle's protective "big-brother mode" kicks in as he cares for an injured Daryl.

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_Red. _On the skin, on the tattered cloth, pooling beneath the trembling body. Ragged breath shakes supple blades of grass, bends them like a breeze might as the red drips to mask that vibrant green. Desperate hands grasp and clutch at the empty air, hazy vision betraying intent to feel, to connect. "M-Merle." The voice is shaky. Tired. Laced with pain and with fear as far-away eyes seek out the man in question.

"Easy," Merle murmurs, and tense muscles uncoil at the sound of his voice. A sigh escapes chapped lips as the younger looks up, squinting against the harsh sun. "S'gonna sting," the elder warns. He's got a wad of fabric, dripping wet with river water, balled up in his hand. Carefully, with the very tip of his bladed prosthesis, he moves aside his brother's torn-up shirt. The cool rag is pressed against an open gash. Daryl shudders; teeth clench as he hisses, head tilted back, hair mingling with the dirt beneath him. "C'mon, man. I warned ya," Merle says. "Don' be such a pussy."

"I ain't," Daryl breathes, and then pauses to fill heaving lungs with air. "Ain't a—pussy."

"You ain't?" Merle asks. He drags the cloth across his brother's chest. The water runs pink down the younger's filthy skin, cleaning away the blood and the sweat and the dirt. "Prove it t'me," Merle taunts. He keeps up his work, dabbing and wiping at the angry, gaping wounds slashed over the hardened canvas of his brother's skin. Daryl grinds and grits his teeth, eyes screwed shut, grunts of pain squeezing through the thin space between his molars. He growls rather than whines; never once does he whimper, nor will he whine. Something like pride turns up the corners of the elder's mouth. "Tha's more like it."

"Screw you, man," Daryl gasps. The rag is moved away, blood-soaked and useless. Merle discards it.

"Y'ain't m'type," Merle jokes. Behind him, the sun paints the sky watercolor pinks and purples and blues. It creeps towards the horizon, all orange and deep red, bright and flaring in its final moments. There's no getting back to the prison now—the crickets have already begun their song, chirping away in the dense wilderness. And somewhere in there, walkers, hungry, without a need for nightly rest. Daryl watches, only semi-lucid, as his brother surveys the area. "Alrigh'," Merle says. "Alrigh', c'mon."

Strong arms slide beneath Daryl's back, maneuvered carefully, and he grunts when he's hauled to his feet. "Can ya walk?" Uncertain, the leans against his brother. His feet sink into the mud. A tentative step turns to a stumble; Merle catches him, slings Daryl's arm over his broad shoulders and careful pins Daryl to his side. "C'mon," he urges. They're slow, and painfully so, as they cross the shallows of the river. Daryl's on the hazy edge of consciousness. As he slips further and further into sleep he leans heavier and heavier on his brother. Merle bears his weight, guides him careful into a small, dark cave. Dank and damp, with a mushy, muddy floor; it smells like mildew and mold.

Merle carefully lowers his brother to the ground. Daryl clutches onto his brother's shirt, and even when he's settled on the soft cave floor, he refuses to let go. "Dar," Merle mutters. He tries to pull away, but the younger's grip tightens. Daryl's eyes are closed. "Hey," Merle says, nudging his brother.

"Don' go," Daryl murmurs in a sleepy voice. Merle's features soften and smooth. His hand covers his brothers: a promise.

"I ain't goin' nowhere." Daryl nods. Fingers loosen their hold but don't give it up. Merle lowers himself beside his brother. In the darkness, he inspects his brother's wounds. As the younger sleeps, too exhausted to care, Merle quietly and carefully packs them with dirt. The pain doesn't rouse his brother. A few times, just to be sure, his hand hovers over Daryl's nose and mouth, heartbeat pounding a drumbeat in his veins until his brother's hot breath tickles his skin.

When he's done all he can do, Merle props himself against the cave's cold wall, eyes trained on his brother's slumbering form—the chest, rising and falling, skin exposed and covered in dirt; the face, relaxed and childlike, age smoothed away in sleep, head turned towards Merle; one arm outstretched towards the elder, just in case.


	2. Baby Teeth

******Disclaimer: **I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters or story lines.

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**II. Baby Teeth**  
requested by: bowsandshotguns()tumblr()com  
Dixon family/childhood-general.

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Daryl was _wailing_. Big, fat tears rolled down tomato red cheeks; little hands were balled up into fists, and his legs kept kicking as pathetic little sobs fell past his lips in uneven gasps. Mama thought he must be teething. She was real tired, too, with her hair all tangled and tossed up in messy buns all the time. It was never more than five seconds after setting the baby down that she filled her hands with a pack of Virginia Slims and her favorite lighter. She was sitting at the top of the stairs with a cigarette burning between her fingers when Daryl started up again, every high pitched cry rippling through the house.

"Shut tha'fuckin' kid _up_!" Pa shouted, words slurred, from downstairs. Mama groaned and took another drag from her cigarette. Daryl kept on wailing. Merle crossed their shared room and leaned over the side of the cradle, peering on his brother whose little face was all scrunched up and contorted. His eyes were narrowed and rimmed with tears but when he saw Merle he reached out. Pa yelled again, "I said _shut 'im up_!"

Merle jolted into action, his own small hands reaching into his brother's crib, scooping Daryl into his arms. The baby squirmed in his grasp, though his sobs did quiet some. "Y'gotta stop," Merle told him. The elder brother bit down on his lower lip in concentration as he adjusted Daryl in his arms, mindful of his hand and flailing limbs as the younger writhed against him. "S'okay, D," he said. Daryl sniffled. His cheeks were all splotchy and tear stained, but he was looking at Merle with a certain curiosity. He made a few little whimpering noises as his chubby hands reached up, grabbing a handful of Merle shirt. Merle's brow furrowed as he watched Daryl knead the fabric in his hands for a few brief moments before stuffing some into his mouth.

A smile tugged at Merle's lips and he moved to his own bed, sitting down carefully so that he wouldn't disturb his baby brother. Daryl seemed contented, gnawing absently at Merle's shirt, watching his brother as he did. Merle wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting like that, just watching the baby watch him, when Mama appeared in the doorway.

"Y'got 'im, baby?" she asked. A new cigarette was clenched between her teeth, the smoke snaking through the air around her. Merle didn't look away from Daryl when he answered, "I got 'im."


	3. Safe Tonight

******Disclaimer: **I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters or story lines.

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**III. Safe Tonight  
**requested by: itty-bitty-runaway()tumblr()com  
Dixon brothers child with slight Dixoncest undertones.

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Underneath the buzzing cicada song he could hear his mother weeping. Her sorrow seeped through the thin walls to settle on the boy's ears, punctuated by the swish of wine in a glass bottle until it was merely a_drip, drip, drab_ of the final sweet droplets. He heard her breath hitch right before the hollow thud of the bottle hitting the floor resounded down the dark hall. There was a soft click, barely audible over the chorus of crickets lulling the world into that nightly hush, before the distinct smell of cigarette smoke wafted through the thin crack beneath the door. Pa was downstairs, snoring loudly. The faint murmur of television voices drifted up the stairs as he snored in time with the owl's hoots. His enraged shouts still echoed through the house, ringing in Merle's ears.

With a heavy sigh, Merle threw back his covers and padded barefoot across the cold floor. He pushed open the window with some struggle, the chipping white paint around the pane of glass peeling off and sticking to his hands. He leaned out, breathing in the summer air. The humidity had lifted ever slightly for the night and the choir of insects and distant owl calls intensified without the thick glass to muffle the lullaby. Eyes closed, the boy breathed in deep.

"Merle?" He opened his eyes and turned to face his brother. Daryl faltered briefly before stating, "Mama's cryin' again."

"I know," Merle grunted.

"S'cause they were fightin'?" Daryl asked.

"Yeah," Merle replied. He pushed himself away from the widow and went back to his bed, settling onto the mattress as Daryl pushed his own blanket down to the foot of his bed. Merle watched as the younger boy rolled out of the bed, little feet hitting the floor without a sound—catlike. Daryl stood there for a moment, big blue eyes trained on Merle's with question marks in them. Those eyes always got Merle; the way his brother looked at him without sadness or hatred or pity. The wonder that light up the most vibrant blue whenever Daryl caught Merle's gaze, the innocent curiosity that drove him to watch every move the elder made, the pure admiration that made him stand a little taller when his brother was around, that made him follow Merle like a duckling does its mother.

Merle sighed again as he shifted to the side, leaving an empty space behind him. "Jus' tonight," he warned. Daryl, enthusiastic, nodded his head and hurried to his brother's side. He scrambled onto the bed and together the boys settled back against Merle's pillow. Daryl still seemed hesitant as Merle dragged the blanket over them. He was watching the bundle of fabric move to settle over his legs and as he did his eyes slipped to the side to look at Merle. When Merle relaxed, Daryl leaned against him, timid but determined, head against Merle's chest, one arm slowly wrapping around Merle's waist. For a split second Merle considered pushing his brother away but Daryl held him tighter, as if he knew. Another sigh and Merle wrapped an arm around the smaller boy. Eyes stared at the open window as he hugged his brother to himself and whispered, "Jus' tonight."


End file.
